“I see Ray’s windmills are still going strong.”
“We have enough juice now to power tools, and I’ve heard rumors they’re converting the old cookware manufacturer off Alberta Street into an armaments factory.”
John folded his arms. “That’s the plan. They’ve already started cutting up those destroyed Chinese tanks and fighting vehicles to use for making mortars and grenades.”
“I can’t imagine it’ll make much difference, John. Other than to paint a giant target on our backs. Don’t you think word of it will leak out from you-know-who?”
“That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about,” John said. “We’re going on an important mission right now. Something very few people in town know about.”
“You’re worried Phoenix might have caught wind?”
“We can’t help but assume.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Just keep an eye out for anyone acting suspicious.”
“I’m already doing that,” Diane said. “We all are. I was lying awake in bed last night, listening to you snore when I thought of something.”
“I snore?”
She smiled. “Of course you do, but that isn’t the important part. I think I know a way to find our mole. Strategic misinformation.”
John took a step back. “That’s a mouthful, even for you.”
Diane grinned and swatted his shoulder. “It means you purposely let an important secret slip out to the people at the top of your suspect list, only each person is told a slightly different version. The enemy’s reaction should reveal which of the stories was leaked and by whom.”
“Sounds complicated, but I like it,” he told her, dropping down on one knee.
“Oh, stop it,” she said, yanking on his arm to stand him up. “I don’t know what foolhardy mission you’re heading on this time, but whenever you leave I keep hoping I’ll see you return with Gregory.”
John pulled her into a hug, feeling the beat of her heart as he pressed her into him. “I hope so too. Until then, pray that he be kept safe.”
When John finally returned to the stables, his men were prepped and ready to leave. The weight of their assault rifles, ammunition, and AT-4 anti-tank rockets as well as food and water was at the upper limit of what they could carry. But by far the heaviest load was the extra weapons they planned on handing out to the prisoners they freed.
As they left Oneida for the second time in so many days―an ungainly procession of soldiers on horses and bikes―John hoped that Diane would pray for them as well.
Chapter 30
Brandon’s heart was hammering in his chest as he made his way to the camp commandant’s headquarters. The building lay just up ahead, a squat, single-story structure identical to the dark brown barracks set in endless rows within the enclosure. The only visible difference was the giant decal of the red Communist star inside a white circle on the side of the building, a symbol also emblazoned on the uniforms of every North Korean prison guard.
As terrifying as what Brandon was about to do was, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to Gregory. The responsibility he felt for his younger friend went far beyond their difference in age. Right or wrong, Gregory had opted out of the escape plan, preferring to stay behind and await the rescue he believed was on its way. How could Brandon show his face in Oneida again with the knowledge he’d done nothing to stop Gregory’s execution, even if such a move would result in his own torture and death?
Two guards stood at attention on either side of the entrance to the headquarters. As Brandon drew near, they raised their weapons and shouted perhaps the only English word they knew.
“Halt!”
He did as they said, raising his hands above his head. The fear on his face must have been obvious because the guards hadn’t shot him.
“I need to see the commandant,” he told them.
They squinted and shook their heads.
Brandon didn’t think they understood and repeated his request.
One of the guards pulled his hand off the hand grip and waved Brandon away. Within a few seconds they would begin shooting.
Just then, Ellis emerged from the commandant’s office. “Get outta here, kid, unless you have some kind of death wish.”
“Tell them I need to speak with the commandant.”
He laughed. “I’m a prisoner here just as much as you are. I don’t tell these folks anything.”
“They’re about to execute an innocent boy. He wasn’t part of the escape plan, I was.”
Ellis’s jaw fell open. “Okay, wait right here and don’t move a muscle.” He disappeared inside. After a few agonizing minutes, he returned.
“Looks like you got your wish.”
Brandon was waved forward and quickly frisked for weapons by the two guards. Afterward, they led him into a modest room. On his left was a red antique couch with carved lion’s-paw feet. At the far end sat a simple oak desk and stretched on the wall behind that was a giant map of the United States. A blood-red line had been drawn from left to right through the middle of the country. To the south were Chinese and North Korean flags. To the north of the red line was a Russian flag and spread throughout the entire map were tiny yellow stars. One, often two per state. Were these the locations of enemy bases and strong points?
The two guards nudged him with the butts of their rifles as a door at the far end of the room opened and in walked the commandant.
He was dressed in an olive-green officer’s uniform, his chest bursting with decorations and ribbons. He removed his hat and laid it on the desk, pushing back his dark, thinning hair with one hand. A short man with harsh features, he looked unassuming.
Could this be the same man responsible for siccing his German Shepherds on disobedient prisoners?
“You have thirty second,” the commandant said in broken English.
Brandon could feel the artery in his neck thumping wildly. “Your men have arrested the wrong person. Gregory Mack was pulled off the fields earlier and charged with plotting to escape and I know for a fact that he’s innocent.”
The commandant paused, glaring at Brandon as though an alien life form were standing before him. “Is that all?”
“I know what I’m telling you,” Brandon said, “because I’m the one who’s guilty, not him.”
The commandant raised an eyebrow. “You know what this will mean for you?”
Brandon nodded. “It means you should take me instead.”
“Very brave…” The commandant waited. “Brandon, is it?”
He nodded.
“Very brave or very foolish? Which do you think?”
“Maybe both,” Brandon said, unsure.
“I think you are right. I saw when I came in you were looking at the map behind me.”
“Yes, I was wondering what the stars meant.”
The commandant glanced back over his shoulder. “They represent how lucky you are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am a fair man, Brandon. But only when prisoners obey my commands. When they don’t I become angry. Each of those stars is a political prison camp and in many of them, the work done by the prisoners is much more brutal, as are the punishments.” He pointed to the middle of the map. “This one here was built next to a coal mine in the state you once called Kansas, but is now Huang-Shi province. Nearly a hundred die there every day. I receive many letters from the commandant there asking for fresh laborers. Just as I receive requests from the front for men of eligible age for forced conscription.”
Brandon swallowed hard.
“Yes, even you hard-headed Americans can be taught to see the folly of resisting.” The commandant shouted something in Korean and the two guards stormed into the room, took Brandon by the arms and began dragging him away.
“What about Gregory?” he shouted, but the commandant didn’t answer.
Chapter 31
“You push that horse any harder,” Reese told John
, “and it’s liable to keel over.”
John glanced down and saw his horse breathing hard and pulled back on the reins. Getting there a tad bit later was better than not getting there at all. Besides, John would make do by going over the battle plan in his head one more time.
Reese pulled up alongside him, bouncing in his saddle. On the left collar of the sniper’s fatigues was a white feather.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” John said, pointing.
Reese glanced down. “It’s my Carlos Hathcock.”
“Your what?”
“One of the greatest snipers our country’s ever produced. Used to wear a white feather in the band of his hat. Was his trademark. Grew up a country boy from Arkansas shooting small game and went on to rack up ninety-three confirmed kills in Vietnam.”
John agreed that was an impressive number.
“You might not know this,” Reese went on, fishing one of his horrible-smelling cigarettes out of a squished pack, “but during that war, kills could only be confirmed by an officer. That is, someone other than the sniper’s spotter. Guess it was designed to stop hotshots from padding their stats. Anyway, Hathcock swore that ninety-three was far too low. Said the real number was somewhere in the neighborhood of three to four hundred enemies killed.”
John’s eyebrows rose.
“That’s right. Commies even put a thirty-thousand-dollar bounty on his head. And you can imagine with a contract like that, the Viet Cong and NVA snipers were pouring in from the north intent on getting a hold of that feather.”
“Did they get him?”
“Oh, they tried,” Reese said with a smile. “Closest they got was a mysterious sniper who went by the code name Cobra. He’d already killed a bunch of Marines in an effort to draw Hathcock out. For several days the two enemies stalked one another. Both of them made narrow escapes as one would close in on the other. Then one day, Hathcock found some disturbed brush and spotted a trail through an open field. He set himself up with his back to the sun.”
“To keep the light out of his eyes,” John said. “Smart man.”
“Not only that, but in those days they still had scopes that reflected shards of sunlight. After scanning for a few minutes, Hathcock spotted a twinkle in the bush, swung his rifle around and fired right at it. When they crossed over they found the Cobra dead. Shot through the lens of his own scope.”
“No way.”
“No joke. A one-in-a-million shot that meant the Cobra had them in his sights. If Hathcock had waited a split second longer, he might have been the one dead.” Reese touched the white feather pin on his collar. “Since I heard that story, I’ve always carried this with me. Call it a good-luck charm.”
John turned back to the trail, praying Reese’s luck would help get them there in time.
Chapter 32
A short time later, the prisoner population was assembled inside the courtyard in order to witness the latest batch of executions. After Brandon’s talk with the commandant, he hadn’t been whisked away to join Dixon, Gregory and the others condemned to die. Instead he’d been returned to the barracks, where he’d sat weeping while he stared at Gregory’s empty bunk.
Now, he stood in formation with the other prisoners, numb with pain. On some level, walking to the commandant’s office had felt like the slow march to the electric chair. The whole time the gnawing fear that his actions might end with his own death had never gone away, but in a way only a condemned prisoner could understand, he’d somehow made peace with the idea.
Of course, looking back, the chances that he might have been lined up and bayoneted alongside Gregory were just as good. And if that had happened, then what would he have accomplished? Perhaps this was why the commandant had asked if he was brave or foolish. Even now, Brandon wasn’t sure which was the right answer. If there was anything he’d learned from John, it was that doing something, anything, was often better than doing nothing at all.
The prisoners slated for execution were led out in a long ragged line. They were nearly the entire group Dixon had put together. Even with the black bags over their heads, Brandon could still see Dixon and Gregory bringing up the rear. The sight sucked the moisture right out of his mouth.
The guards halted the condemned and turned them to face the crowd. Soon the bayoneting would start and Brandon was sure the sight of his friends being killed would make him physically sick.
The pug-faced guard, Lee Kun-Hee, moved to the far end, steadying his rifle before plunging the bayonet into the first prisoner. They shrieked in agony before collapsing to the ground. On he went, working his way down the line as the commandant stood nearby watching.
When he arrived at Dixon, Brandon felt the sudden urge to scream out, to say something in protest at the cruel indignity of it all. But Brandon didn’t get a chance to say a word before Dixon shouted, “Long live America.”
The prisoners erupted with cheers just as Pug Face thrust his blade into Dixon’s belly. The soldier let out a moan and fell to his knees. Other guards fired warning shots into the air to regain control.
A second jab from Pug Face ended it and Dixon slumped to the ground. Angry tears welled up behind Brandon’s eyes, but he knew the worst was yet to come.
With Dixon and the others dead, Pug Face stood before Gregory. Once again he pulled back his rifle and Brandon felt the air catch in his throat.
A shout in Korean from the commandant made Pug Face freeze in mid thrust, the blade inches from Gregory’s stomach.
“It has come to my attention this boy was wrongfully accused,” the commandant said, addressing the crowd himself this time. “I hereby release him back into the general population. Let none of you think that I am an unfair and unjust man.”
The prisoners stood speechless. Even Brandon didn’t know what to say. Had his bold and dangerous move to plead for Gregory’s life actually paid off?
Reluctantly, Pug Face removed the hood and cut the ropes that bound Gregory’s hands. For a moment the boy stood confused until the guard pushed him forward, sending him back toward the line of prisoners.
The commandant then issued an order in Korean and immediately, the guards pushed their way through the deep rows of prisoners, pulling out several males in their teens and twenties. The crowd split as Brandon spotted Pug Face heading in his direction, pushing aside prisoners as he came. A second later, the ugly guard grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out to stand with the others.
This was it. This was where he and dozens of others would be executed in Gregory’s place. The price for saving his young friend hadn’t only been his own life. It had cost the lives of everyone else standing alongside him.
But Brandon wasn’t entirely right. This wasn’t an execution. Instead, the commandant lined the men up and paced before them.
“From this moment on,” he told them, “you lucky few are conscripts in the People’s Liberation Army. First you will be sent for training. Afterward you will be shipped to the front. Fraternity, dexterity, sincerity. These are the virtues you will acquire. May you make the Communist Party and the Eastern Alliance proud.”
Brandon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Conscripted into the Chinese army. He knew the Germans had done the same to the Russians, Bulgarians and others after conquering their lands during World War Two, a move that was particularly sinister since men on the battlefield, unwilling as they might be, tended to fight for their own survival, even if that meant firing on their own people.
Moments before they were marched away, the commandant gave them one final warning. “If any of you fail to do your duty to the fullest, hundreds here will be executed in punishment.”
With that stark threat ringing in his ears, Brandon caught sight of Gregory in the line of prisoners. He was crying and both of them knew this would be the last time they would see each other.
Chapter 33
Back in Oneida, only a handful of the workers repairing the greenhouse were present when dusk arrived. Diane gripped the h
ammer and drove a nail into a table joint with three whacks. Once finished, this would be one of several platforms lining the interior of the greenhouse.
Diane paused to scan the darkening sky, wondering where the members of her family were at this very moment. Emma was in the basement struggling against that printing press. Over the last few days she’d found something of a calling, cranking out those propaganda leaflets by the hundreds. So long as she held onto the hope that Brandon and Gregory would return, Diane knew her daughter could keep herself together.
Diane hadn’t been speaking metaphorically about praying for Gregory and Brandon’s safe return when she and John had last spoken. The act of stopping throughout the day to give thanks and beg for their protection had become a ritual in and of itself. Which led her to the final member of her family, John. He was gone again doing his part and she couldn’t fault him for that, although the selfish side of her wondered why the responsibility always seemed to fall on his shoulders. Or maybe a more accurate way of looking at it was why John seemed to always take so much on himself.
In the days since they first arrived in Oneida, it seemed that the Mack family had seen less and less of each other. Much of that had to do with the difficult circumstances they were in as the community struggled not only to survive but to thrive in a new world that wanted nothing more than to destroy them. And Diane wasn’t simply talking about the Chinese. Disease, starvation, exposure were only three of a million ways their surroundings conspired against them.
Hands on her hips, a trickle of sweat running down her back, Diane began to turn her attention back to the table when something drew her attention. Past the greenhouse and the twin windmills chopping lazily at the air above her, a thin figure in dark jeans and a black hoodie stepped into the woodlands that ran next to the high school. Diane stood, staring for a moment, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. Whoever it was had what looked like a piece of paper in his hand, which he folded as he disappeared. But what struck her as odd wasn’t merely that the man’s hoodie was pulled up over his head on such a warm evening, it was that he was heading toward the woods on the edge of town. Most citizens steered clear of the forest, especially when dusk drew near. A few miles away lay the Chinese lines. Sure, there were a handful of American troops positioned at key sections along the perimeter, but they couldn’t watch the whole area at once.
Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4) Page 11